


steampunk (working title)

by astolat



Category: American Idol RPF (Season 8)
Genre: Fantasy, M/M, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-08-25
Updated: 2011-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 04:02:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/pseuds/astolat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm Squire Allen's son, from Conway," Kris said, and because the way this was going, he wasn't going to have another chance, he added, "We've been having border trouble—Lord Cowell brought me to court so I could tell you—" Miles was on the other side of the king, frantically shaking his head <em>no, no, no</em>, so Kris trailed off, darting his eyes at him in confusion.</p><p>"Oh, is <em>that</em> why Lord Cowell brought you," the king said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note to warn you that this story is sadly unfinished and there is little likelihood of its ever being so! But it is at least consummated. ;)

Okay, so maybe Kris was just a backwoods hick who had gotten used to running around the woods in hunting leathers and boots that had been broken in for a year, but he did not see how anybody managed all of this crap, and anyway he thought that he could've at least started a little slower. There had been a couple of other men in the great hall who weren't wearing the ruff collars, and barely anyone was wearing the freaking jeweled hand netting, so this was seriously not his fault.

"Hold still," Lord Cowell's valet Miles said tensely, working; he was trying to get the netting loose from Kris's brand-new doublet without tearing the velvet. He'd hauled Kris out to the cloister outside to get a little bit more light from the torches in the garden. The hard driving beat of the music was thumping through the flagstones.

"The king really wants everyone dressed like this?" Kris said, staring up at the ceiling, feeling half-strangled. "I don't—" He coughed, choked, as Miles grabbed the corset laces and pulled tight, squashing the air out of Kris's chest. "Ow," he wheezed.

"Fashion follows the king," Miles said.

"The king really wants to _be_ dressed like this?" Kris said. "What is even up with—please tell me you're done?"

"Yes," Miles said, straightening up.

Kris yanked the collar off and breathed out hard against the corset laces. "Just—the collar? And corsets? Come on, this would make anyone look stupid. Uh, not to criticize," he added, because Miles was looking horrified.

"That's just as well," someone else said, behind him, and Kris turned around and stared at the king, who was leaning against one of the columns, his arms folded and smiling a little, his eyes glinting. He straightened up and came over, prowling almost—Kris had seen him a little earlier, coming into the hall, but only at a distance. He seemed bigger up close—tall, and his hair swept up, and on him the ruff didn't look stupid after all.

Kris belatedly realized he was supposed to be bowing—or, hell, was he supposed to be going down on one knee? he hadn't been presented formally—"Breathe," the king said, catching him under the chin, and drawing him back up. His eyes were lined heavily in kohl, smudged and smoky, a sharp intense blue.

"I—uh," Kris said, brilliantly, and then folded his mouth shut and yelled at himself silently for being an idiot. Daniel should've come; Daniel would be saying something hilarious and funny about his outfit right now, or at least managing to get out a decent apology. "Sorry?" Kris said, "I—that wasn't—"

The king had his head tilted to one side with a fascinated expression, like Kris was—not exactly a bug, but maybe some kind of really weird animal. It didn't make it any easier to figure out what to say. "Where did Simon find you, exactly?" the king asked.

"I'm Squire Allen's son, from Conway," Kris said, and because the way this was going, he wasn't going to have another chance, he added, "We've been having border trouble—Lord Cowell brought me to court so I could tell you—" Miles was on the other side of the king, frantically shaking his head _no, no, no_, so Kris trailed off, darting his eyes at him in confusion.

"Oh, is _that_ why Lord Cowell brought you," the king said.


	2. Chapter 2

"Oh, is _that_ why Lord Cowell brought you," the king said.

"Uh—" Kris said, warily. "Yes?"

The king's smile was wry and twisting in a way Kris didn't understand, although he could read loud and clear that there was a lot going on here he was missing. Which was about how he'd felt since he'd gotten to court. Why wasn't he back home shooting demons again?

"You can tell me all about it after dinner," the king said, and flicked a glance over at Miles, who went instantly stiff, his head bowed. "Tell Lord Cowell I'll see you in my quarters. I'm sure he can arrange to get you there."

And then he was turning away, swirl of the black velvet cloak behind him, a glimpse of blue lining, like something out of a story; Kris stared after him, then noticed he had his hand up on his own face, touching the place where the king had gripped him. He dropped his hand hurriedly. "What was that all about?" he said to Miles. "Why wasn't I supposed to tell him?"

"You can't just start pleading a case to the king in the middle of the hall.—Lord Cowell will explain," Miles said evasively.

Alright, whatever. It wasn't like Kris had been guaranteed another shot—Lord Cowell had been all on about how he wasn't promising anything but to present him, and if it wasn't okay to start talking to the king about border attacks in a hallway, it was probably less okay to start in the middle of the court with twenty people lined up to be presented behind him. Anyway, the king hadn't seemed pissed-off.

"_That_ was sheer good luck," Lord Cowell said, irritable: Miles had dragged Kris back into the great hall through a back door, shoved him in a corner, and gotten Lord Cowell. "If you had caught him in a different mood, you might easily have been thrown out of court. I suggest that you keep in mind that having sponsored you here, I am responsible for your conduct. If you have any sense of obligation—" his tone suggested that what he really meant was a sense of self-preservation, "—you will follow my advice."

"Well, at this point he said he wants to see me," Kris said. "I'm guessing that's not something to skip, so—"

"Hardly," Cowell said. "That doesn't mean it's an invitation to immediately start blabbing at him, either. You _do_ recall that Lord Fuller is your neighbor's patron? If you begin hurling around accusations without proof, you will very quickly discover what a squire's son is worth at court."

Kris felt like pointing out that his word was good enough proof last time he'd checked the law, but he shut his mouth on it. It didn't work that way, and he knew it, but—damn, he wished Daniel were here. Kris didn't get why Cowell had insisted on him, anyway; anyone five minutes into a dinner conversation at their place knew which one of them had the flash and charm down, and it wasn't him. They'd been grateful enough for the chance to send anyone, though, and Cowell hadn't had to do anything.

"I get it," he said instead. "But if he asks—"

"Try and show a little restraint," Cowell said. "Having the king's ear is a rare opportunity. You'll find it more to your advantage if you leave him willing to hear you out in future than if you simply chatter at him until you bring him to the point of boredom."

Demons killing people didn't seem all that boring to Kris, but Cowell was already saying, "Miles, you had better take him back to the suite and do what you can—" like this froofy doublet wasn't enough. Kris swallowed a sigh. "And Kristopher," Cowell added sharply, "keep in mind this is your sovereign, and _not_ to be trifled with."

"No trifling, got it," Kris said, and let Miles drag him off for another hour of fussing over. "No—no, come on, man, I'm just going to look stupid—" Kris said, leaning away from the kohl pencil. "I don't—this isn't me. If he cares that much what I'm wearing, I'm screwed anyway."

Miles paused, the pencil held up, and then he put it down and said, "Well, you may have a point."

"_Thank_ you," Kris said. "Can I ditch the ruff?"

"Not that much of a point," Miles said dryly.

Kris jerked the doublet straight outside the door, while the guard put his head in and said something low, before letting him in; the second man on the door was eyeing him up and down, kind of smirking. "That bad, huh?" Kris said to him; the guard blinked and then went wooden and said, "Sorry, m'lord?"

"I'm not a—" Kris started saying, but the other guard was turning back and saying, "His Majesty will see you now."

The king was sprawled sleepy-eyed in a low, heavy armchair by the fireplace, long legs stretched out, hard-muscled and lean, a goblet dangling from his fingers. There was music playing on the gleaming radiophone over the mantel, incredibly crisp; Kris hadn't ever heard one that good. "You're a Buckley fan? He's amazing," Kris said, before he remembered he wasn't supposed to speak first. "Uh, sorry."

"He _is_ amazing," the king said, and waved Kris to the chair next to him.

Kris sat a little gingerly, but it was hard not to sprawl—the chair was deep and soft. He jumped as a mechanical arm swung out from the wall and picked up the bottle of wine and filled another goblet sitting on the table by his elbow. "Doesn't that creep you out at all?" he said.

"You'd be surprised how easy it is to get used to," the king said. "You were telling me why Simon brought you to court."

Kris hesitated, because—he didn't get how he was supposed to be _restrained_ here, or whatever. The king was asking him a question, and there was an answer, and yeah, it involved trashing Baron Trugman, but the hell, the guy had earned it. "I don't want—" Kris said, and stopped and tried again. "I just need to say, I'm not looking to make trouble, or be a jerk about this," he said. "We didn't want a fight in the first place."

"Well, this sounds exciting," the king said, drinking from his goblet.

Kris said, "We just need help, because if things keep going like this—"

The king held up a hand. "Why don't you back up just a little."

"Right," Kris said. "Sorry, I know I suck at this. My brother's the smooth talker."

The king laughed and tilted his head backwards. "I don't know, it's refreshing." His smile was a little sly, almost teasing, and Kris kind of wanted to grin back at him, share the joke, except he wasn't sure if that was okay. Were you allowed to joke around with the king? It was weird, sitting here thinking _that's the king_—not that he didn't look the part, he did, but he was still a _person_, a guy, and this was a fancy room but not all that much fancier than the one they'd given Kris in Lord Cowell's suite. It made it hard to remember Kris was supposed to be staying deferential all the time.

"I'm better at the fighting part?" he offered tentatively.

"Oh, are you?" the king said, and looked him up and down, his mouth twitching, and Kris let himself smile back the way he wanted to; or more accurately, he didn't stop himself doing it in time.

"Yeah, sorry you're getting shortchanged," Kris said. "I think Lord Cowell just wanted me to come because I'm the heir."

"Simon Cowell is a very smart man," the king said. "Possibly just a little too smart for his own good." He waved a hand. "So what's the issue?"

"Well," Kris said, and took a deep breath and just went for it, "Baron Trugman wants us to give him a valley out of my father's estate. He tried to buy it last winter for pretty much nothing, and since we said no, he's been sending men over the border to raid—"

"Why do I know his name?" the king said, interrupting.

Kris swallowed. "He's—Lord Fuller's vassal."

"Mm," the king said. "And your father is Lord Cowell's?"

"Huh? No," Kris said. "We're not—my father's just a squire. But my mom went to school with a girl who's one of Lady Abdul's ladies in waiting, and Lord Cowell was passing through on his way to Edinburgh, so he stopped with us to change his horses and have dinner, and then—"

"— he brought you along to tell me the tale of woe," the king said.

"There you go," Kris said, spreading his hands. "I get that Lord Fuller's important," he added. "I don't mean this as anything against him, probably he doesn't even know. We're pretty small. But I think Baron Trugman just figures he can get away with this stuff because he's got a big patron, and when we tried to go to court, they wouldn't hear the case."

The king didn't say anything right away, just sipping from his goblet and looking into the fire, so after a pause Kris added, "We lost twenty sheep in the last raid, and that's—I guess that sounds pretty small, but it's not small to us, that's people going hungry in the winter. And one of the demons was done and heading for a farmhouse. This keeps going, it's only a matter of time before they grab a kid."

The king abruptly put down his glass and looked over at him, eyes sharp and glittering. "Demons? What's wrong with your wardstones?"

"They're knocking them over," Kris said.

"The raiders," the king said. "You're saying the raiders are coming onto your property, knocking down the wardstones, and letting the demons in?"

"Yeah," Kris said. "Last time they broke one, and six demons showed up at the same time."

"Oh, fuck that," the king said, and raised his voice. "Guard!" The door swung open, and the guards looked inside. "Go get Lord Cowell and Lord Fuller," the king said. "They can have five minutes to dress, then they get over here."

They both showed up in more like three minutes, a little out of breath and wary; Cowell shot Kris a hard look. "Okay," the king said. "Lord Fuller, one of your vassals seems to have gotten the idea that the little part in his oath of fealty about protecting the borders of the kingdom is, I don't know, flexible? Or maybe he's just a little slow and hasn't realized that fucking with the wardstones anywhere in the kingdom weakens the borders everywhere else."

"Sire," Lord Fuller said, "I gather this is about Baron Trugman? I assure you that you have no more loyal servant. Perhaps there's been some misunderstanding. Or I imagine someone might for their own motives be interested in giving you a false representation of the situation—"

Kris straightened up in his chair—was Fuller actually calling him a liar?

"Simon?" the king said, breaking in. "Nice try. Not that I'm not as ridiculously cynical as the next person, but not this time. Tell Baron Trugman to knock it off, and that I'll be expecting him at court next month to renew his oath directly to the throne. And as a service to the crown, I'd like you personally to see to the complete replacement of the damaged wardstones on the Allen lands. Oh, and the sheep! Let's replace the sheep, too."

Lord Fuller pressed his mouth shut and bowed a little from the waist. "I am honored to serve, Sire."

"Wonderful," the king said. "And Lord Cowell, the next time you hear about wardstones getting smashed, I want to hear about it from you right away, not third-hand a week later while you figure out how to get an advantage out of it. We've had almost twice the demon attacks these last five years as the five before that, and fucking around with this is so not okay. Am I being clear about this?"

"Perfectly," Lord Cowell said dryly.

"Even more wonderful," the king said. "That's all, my lords."

Lord Cowell flicked a glance at Kris as he left the room, maybe annoyed; it was hard to read. Kris stared after him, feeling a little dazed. That had all happened a lot quicker than he had expected. "Uh, thank you?" he said, looking at the king.

The king had slouched back in his chair with his wine again, and he raised an eyebrow. "Don't overwhelm me with gratitude or anything."

"No! I _am_—I mean, I really am grateful, I just got the impression that it wasn't going to happen that fast," Kris said.

"Mm," the king said. "Let me guess—Simon had you dressed up and sent to my chamber, told you to be good company, and reminded you I'm your sovereign and not to be refused?"

"Something like that," Kris said, baffled, and then he said, "Oh, you're fucking kidding me."

The king started laughing, warm and genuine, a burst of it. Kris rubbed his face, feeling his cheeks get hot. "That was so not my idea," Kris said. "I'm really not kidding."

"Oh, I believe you," the king said, grinning.

"Would you believe I'm also not a complete dumbass?" Kris said. "Because I'm having a hard time with that one."

"A little naïve maybe," the king said. "The court's obviously a little unfamiliar territory. But it works for you. It's kind of adorable."

"Yeah, me and the freaking unicorns," Kris said. He picked up his wine and drank it off, mainly to have something to do with his face instead of just sit there blushing, and put it down. "So—I guess I should—?" he stopped, because right, he was supposed to wait to be dismissed.

The king smiled and stood up, and Kris got up with him, relieved. He figured he could probably even head home tomorrow—and never in a million years mention to his family that Lord Cowell had been, what, trying to pimp him out to the _king_, Jesus. "Seriously, thank you," he said. "Your Majesty. And, uh. I'm sorry about the uh. The plan. Whatever."

"I'm not," the king said.

"What?" Kris said.

The king stepped in closer, and Kris stared up at him, feeling a little weird and dizzy. Maybe the wine hadn't been the most awesome idea after all. "Kristopher?" the king said.

"Yeah?" Kris said. His eyes really were—amazing. And his mouth was kind of—

"In case no one mentioned it," the king said, "I'm your sovereign. And I'm not to be refused."

"Oh?" Kris said, a little vaguely, because look, it was distracting, and then the king had cupped Kris's face in his hands and was leaning in, and Kris said, "Oh—" and then he was being kissed, sweet and deep and hard.


	3. Chapter 3

The king—"Call me Adam," he murmured in Kris's ear—was barely stopping long enough between kisses to let Kris catch his breath.

"Adam?" Kris said, his voice rising. "You want me to call you—" He stopped, because the king had gotten the doublet-lacings undone in about five seconds instead of the half-hour it had taken to do them up in the first place, and his hands were sliding onto Kris's back. They were cool against his stifled skin after all the layers of wool and velvet: palms soft and unhardened, the fingers smooth except for the sorcery calluses on the pads of his ring fingers, and his thigh pressed between Kris's legs as they went tumbling backwards into the huge, soft, velvet-curtained bed.

"Well, I don't want to be called _Your Majesty_ in bed," the king said, laying soft hot kisses along Kris's neck.

"Okay, I can see that would be," Kris said, and choked off as the king's mouth slid onto his collarbone and a hard, wracking shiver went down his back and legs. He clenched a hand into the king's hair, thick and soft, wool and furs under him, velvet overhead, dazed. He'd fumbled around with friends before once or twice, out on the moors, long cold nights guarding the borders or watching the sheep, but this was _not_ the same. He had a brief crazy vision of being rolled up with—_Adam_—in a heap of uncombed sheepskins and coarse blankets, bits of twigs in his hair and rocks under them, and started laughing, breathless.

"I don't believe you're taking this seriously enough," Adam said.

"I don't believe this is _happening_," Kris said, but then Adam rolled his hips in a long and grandiose swell against him. "—I could be convinced, though," Kris added, strangled.

"Good," Adam said, kissing his mouth again. "I'll work on that."

His hand was on the lacings of Kris's breeches now, picking open the ties easily, and Kris had a moment: this really _was_ happening, and he wasn't the kind who'd ever wanted to roll into bed with a stranger—he'd always thought it would be nice to wait until—

He caught Adam's hand, halfway down the placket, and blurted out, "I've never actually—"

Adam stared down at him, wide-eyed, incredulous, and then he said, "Is there something wrong with the people where you live?"

"There aren't a lot of us?" Kris said, rolling his eyes. "And a lot of the ones I'm not related to are sheep."

Adam laughed and bent down and bit at Kris's nipple, exposed in the crumpled silk wreck of his doublet. Kris gasped and arched up into his mouth. "So was that a plea for me to stop and preserve your virtue?" Adam said, and licked his tongue over it.

"Uh," Kris said, groaning a little, wavering. "It—I—"

"Because I could," Adam said, and shifted his weight so Kris could feel his cock, hot against his thigh through the breeches and hose. There was a _lot_ of it. Adam nipped at his ear. "Any time you like." The heel of his hand pressed, gently but firm, between Kris's legs; Kris couldn't help rocking into it, and screw it, this was nice too; this was better than nice, holy _fuck_.

"No," Kris said, strangled, "no, that's okay, just mentioning—"

"Are you sure? Because I wouldn't want to despoil anyone unwilling," Adam added, rubbing his hand back and forth, a long stroke.

"Just shut up and despoil me already!" Kris said, and he hooked a leg around Adam's hip and rolled them over, Adam breaking out into delighted laughter under him.

#

Kris woke up slow and luxuriously, the heavy bed curtains cutting the light to a watery trickle. Adam was stirring beside him, stretching out, and he rolled up onto his side and looked down at Kris heavy-lidded and pleased. And hey, as long as Kris had lost his virtue anyway—

So he was leaning in to kiss Adam again when there were voices outside the door, and people started to come into the room. Not servants, either, but lords—Lord Cowell and Lord Fuller both, and several other barons. Kris flattened himself into the covers as much as he could, and glared at Adam, who didn't seem at all bothered by an army of nobles wandering into his bedchamber with the dawn.

Adam grinned back at him, a little wolfish, and leaned in to whisper, "What, you didn't know about the levee?"

"Your Majesty," Kris said—"Adam," the king said, still grinning—"_Your Majesty_," Kris said, pointedly, "I don't know if anyone's ever told you this, but you're a jerk."

The king threw back his head and laughed, wholeheartedly, and then he kissed Kris hard and fast once more and said, "I'm not at all! I won't even make you get out of bed," before he threw back the covers on his side and stepped down out of the curtains stark naked, to let his waiting valet throw a dressing gown over him.

Kris gave serious thought to taking him up on that offer, but after Adam had gotten out, a manservant came around to his side with another robe, and it seemed pointless to hide. Kris wouldn't be seeing any of these people ever again soon as he went back home. Hell, Simon would probably even be happy, since apparently this had been his idea from the start.

Besides, there was a huge slab of pork belly stewed in wine coming into the room, at the head of a dozen dishes, and Kris was starving the second he got a whiff of it. The lords were all busy talking politics, too, and ignoring him, which meant Kris actually got a plate of hot food before any of them did. He made a point of catching Adam's eye from where he stood in a small knot of men as his servants put on his robes, and licking his fingers exaggeratedly.

That didn't work all that well, though, because instead of looking annoyed, Adam narrowed his eyes in that smoky, turned-on way that had meant something amazing was about to happen, and apparently one night was all it had taken for Kris to take that information to heart. Or to other parts of his anatomy. Kris edged around the corner of the table to get out of sight from the waist down.

Simon did actually come over, after he'd talked to the king. "You do realize you aren't meant to eat until the king begins?" he said, looking disapprovingly at the plate.

"Lord Cowell," Kris said, "you're going to have to bear with me if I don't really give a damn about your advice anymore."

Cowell snorted. "Yes, go on, I'm perfectly willing to hear you try and convince me you have complaints about your evening."

He looked Kris up and down the dressing gown. Kris glared at him. "I don't have complaints about the _night. _I've got plenty about you trying to score points against Lord Fuller off our problems and lying to me about it. Not to mention what else you were trying to score points off. Isn't it kind of beneath your dignity to play procurer?"

"Kristopher," Cowell said, utterly unembarrassed, far as Kris could tell, "you're going to have to shed that naivete very quickly. No one at court will ever do anything without at least one selfish motive."

Kris rolled his eyes. "Then it's lucky for me I'm not staying long."

Cowell raised an eyebrow. "Really?"


	4. Chapter 4

#

Kris went back to his room after the levee and started to pack; the effort involved was mostly sorting his own things out from the mess of fancy-dress that Cowell had loaded him up with. Then Miles showed up, half an hour into it, and waved his arms in protest. "Unless you're sorting those out for me to _burn_," he said, with a sniff. "I'll pack this for you, if you please."

"I don't think I'm going to have a lot of call for ruffs in the near future," Kris said.

Miles—blushed a little. "Yes, well, I have heard that about—" He stopped and coughed.

Kris stared at him, warily, and then he got it. "I mean _back home_," he said, "which is where I'm going!"

Miles looked at him with an expression that was a dead ringer for the way his mom had looked the time Kris and Daniel had tried to explain to her that no, really, the wild pig had just _accidentally_ gotten loose in the castle. "I am!" Kris said.

"Yes, of course," Miles said, woodenly. "I'll just pack these for you as a _precaution_, then."

"I—okay, knock yourself out," Kris said, and gave up. If Miles wanted to pack him all these fancy things, fine. He'd give them to the kids as costumes for the holiday pageants.

Of course, Miles didn't leave things there; before lunchtime had even rolled around, Simon showed up to interrupt the rest of Kris's packing.

"Try not to be ludicrous," Simon said, impatiently. "You aren't going back to that jumped-up hovel to herd sheep."

"That would be my family's home for the last five generations that you're talking about?" Kris said. "Yeah, I am."

"I don't think you understand, Kristopher," Simon said.

"Yeah, I _do_ understand," Kris said. "I understand that you'd like me to stick around and pimp myself out to the king, get close to him, start sharing his thoughts with you—"

"You wouldn't keep the king's ear very long if you started sharing his thoughts with anyone," Simon said.

"So what _do_ you want me to stick around for?" Kris said.

Simon looked annoyed. "At present, I couldn't care in the least if you stayed or not," he said. "The _king,_ on the other hand, does."

"I'm pretty sure he's already forgotten about me," Kris said.

There was a knock on the door. Kris and Simon looked over. A page in royal livery stepped in and bowed. "Lord Allen?" he piped. "The king desires your company."

"It's just Mr.—" Kris said, too late: the page was already darting back out the door.

"I've never noticed the king's memory to be faulty in this particular area," Simon said dryly. "Enjoy your lunch. I'll have Miles take your things to whichever quarters the castellan sets aside for you."

#

Kris stalked into the king's chambers, annoyed, except he got pulled up by finding Adam sprawled out over his bed, in nothing but breeches and a loose-necked blouse, licking honey off his fingers. Kris swallowed. Adam looked up and smiled, heavy-lidded and pleased. "I've been thinking about your mouth all morning," he said.

"Well, you've got to have been bored," Kris managed, faintly.

"Not in the least," Adam purred, and crooked a finger.

Kris had meant to lay out in detail just why he wasn't staying in the capitol, and especially why he wasn't staying as the king's something-or-other, but he didn't remember that until after, panting and collapsed with his face mashed into Adam's collarbone, sticky all over. "Nmgh," he said, by way of starting on it.

"Mmm," Adam said, not much more articulately, and a nap wasn't going to hurt anything, Kris decided.

Except when he woke up, Adam was already dressed again, and looking down at him critically. "I'm thinking black," he said decisively. "And maybe some touches in gold."

"Uh," Kris said, groggily.

"Not that I disagree on the merits of staying in bed all day," Adam went on, "but I do need to put in an appearance at Court tonight. Come on, up you get. You'll be sitting with me."

"Uh, about that," Kris said, pushing himself up.

"Trust me," Adam said, "the sharks will be all over you in three seconds otherwise."

"Not if I'm—on the road north?" Kris said.

Adam laughed and kissed him. "You might slow them down by an hour or so."

"I'm serious," Kris said, trying to rake his hair flat with his fingers; he was pretty sure it wasn't working all that well. "Sire, I need to get home. Even with the wardstones up, we still get a demon or two coming in from the Wild most months, and there's the harvest—"

"I'll send three trained men at arms to your father," Adam said. "I'll need to knight him, but that's just as well."

"What?" Kris said, staring. "No!"

"No?" Adam stared at him. "You have some sort of objection to your family's elevation?"

"I do when it's. uh." Kris felt his face getting red. "I'm not interested in being _paid_ here."

"Don't be an idiot," Adam said. "I could fill my bed with prettier boys than you for a handful of coins if I was buying _sex_. What I don't have are men I can use, and that, Kristopher, is why I am going to keep you at the price of a knighthood and three soldiers."

"So if I decided there wasn't going to be any more of this—" Kris waved a hand around comprehensively.

"I'd get excited at the chance of seducing you all over again, but you aren't really going to put up much of a challenge," Adam said.

"Hey!" Kris said.

"Oh, I'm just teasing," Adam said. "I don't really _want_ a challenge, I have enough work to do."

#


End file.
